Anna Smith, Head Housemaid
by Eady of Old
Summary: The slow yet inevitable evolution from strangers to friends and from friends to the promise of something more.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **The slow yet inevitable evolution from strangers to friends and from friends to the promise of something more.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Downton Abbey or any of these characters, which is probably for the best.

**A/N: So this is a story that's been sitting on my harddrive for a while, gathering dust as I return periodically to try and tweak it. Figured I'd go ahead and begin posting it as it is pretty much done and ready to make its own way in the world. Shouldn't be longer than 2-3 chapters. I began writing it as tracking and filling in parts of S1 but eventually it will bridge the gap between the end of S1 and beginning of S2. No spoilers past S2. No big angst. **

**I love reviews and they're always appreciated.**

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><p>Anna Smith. The head housemaid.<p>

She'd introduced herself by her first name, very matter-of-factly, even offering him her hand and a friendly smile. She showed no embarrassment as he moved his cane to the crook of his arm so he could accept the greeting properly.

Bates found out her last name later, overheard by someone talking in the servants' hall. Everyone referred to Anna with respect and deference, the sort that far outstripped her relative youth. In a house the size of Downton, such notoriety was especially impressive.

"So you fought in the Boers with Lord Grantham?" she asked after the Earl took the trouble to come down to the servants' hall and greet him. Her tone was friendly and curious, so he did not mind answering.

"Yes, I did. I was his Lordship's batman."

Anna smiled at him. "And what exactly does a batman do? Is that like a valet?"

"Think of it as sort of a servant and soldier. I was responsible for not only making sure he had what he needed, but also protecting him in the field. They would often target officers." He sighed. "Some considered it a cushy job, but it was quite an honor for me."

"His Lordship must have been very fond of you," Anna stated.

Bates inclined his head. "I cannot speak for him, of course, but I appreciate the opportunity he's given me now."

Their conversation was interrupted quickly, but it was not their last such exchange.

Bates quickly realized that Anna was indeed a very special person and the sort he wanted in his corner if he was to stay at Downton. But he learned how unique she truly was the night she brought him a tray of food in his room. Having just been let go before even having much opportunity to prove himself, Bates was at a low point that evening. With no where else to go and no one else to turn to, losing this last opportunity at a better life very nearly pulled him under a tide of depression.

Alone in his comfortable, private room, he cried tears of shame. His last hope for the future was being stripped away from him, and while he knew he had to accept his fate, he feared for his future. If the man who's life he'd saved incurring the injury to his leg could not see past it, how could he expect any other employer to do so?

And then Anna appeared. She called out to him, allowing him the time to compose himself. Offering the tray without any question whether he could handle it, she expressed her concern over his welfare.

And she was sorry he was going. She was likely the only one who felt that way, but she truly seemed unhappy that he was leaving.

Her words penetrated a heart he thought hardened by years in prison after so much of Vera's vitriol and hatred. He had believed that no one could ever touch him so deeply, not after what he'd been through. But here she'd managed it in so short a time.

Anna went on to request that he write to her, or else she would worry. He didn't want her to worry, truly, he didn't. Sadly, of all the people he'd known in the past few years, he had found more kindness from her in his brief time at Downton than from anyone else excepting his mother. He closed the door after thanking her for the food, not wanting to see that kindness turn to pity.

But Anna did not pity him. Her kindness was born of her own beautiful personality and her particular softness towards him was the fruit of a fast-growing affection even she did not understand. Once Lord Grantham had determined that he should stay on despite the protests of some of the others both downstairs and up, Anna made no secret of her support.

"And why shouldn't His Lordship have the valet he wants?" she'd asked aloud in the middle of the servants' hall, obviously not caring whose opinion she challenged. "Mister Bates has only just started here. Shouldn't he have an opportunity to prove his worth before he's thrown over?"

Thomas and O'Brien glowered at her, and Mr. Carson said nothing. Only Mrs. Hughes seemed to agree with her, nodding as she added, "Our lot is not to question such matters."

Mister Bates entered the room a moment later, not wanting to be caught in the hall listening to Anna's defense of him. She greeted him with a warm smile and inclined her head slightly towards the seat beside her. He took it even as he wondered if her kindness towards him might one day backfire on her and bring her vengeance from his growing list of enemies.

But Anna showed no care of such a worry as she engaged him in conversation during the evening meal. Later, when the lights had burned low and most everyone had gone up to bed, he found her at the table again doing some mending on a dress.

"You're up late," he noted.

Anna flashed him a smile as she looked up from her work. "Just have to fix this frock. It wasn't torn when I took it to the laundry, but it is now and I'm sure Lady Mary will want to wear it in the next few days."

"How do you think it was torn?" he asked.

Anna screwed her lips into an expression of sardonic amusement. "Oh, I'm sure it had a bit of help from unwitnessed hands. Probably a punishment intended for me when Lady Mary saw it. But I've been in this house far too long to let a bit of bullying get the best of me."

A chill crossed his skin as Bates understood what she meant. "You think Miss O'Brien did it to get back at you for defending me?" he asked.

She shrugged. "More likely her than Thomas. He wouldn't have known which broken seam would have gone unnoticed until the last moment."

"I'm sorry I've involved you in this," he lamented. "I don't want you getting into trouble for my sake."

With a snort, Anna returned, "I've involved myself. And besides, it wouldn't have mattered who took over as Lord Grantham's valet. Thomas wants the position for himself and he'll do anything to make a play for it."

"And what's Miss O'Brien's dog in the matter?"

Anna rolled her eyes and stated, "She likes stirring up trouble. I think she genuinely enjoys it. But she can also report back to Her Ladyship and seem quite the knowledgeable sort on happenings down here."

Sighing at the inside politics of it all, Bates asked, "Is there anything I can do to help you with the mending?"

Shaking her head, Anna tied off one last thread and held it up. The torn seam barely showed at all. "It's finished now," she declared triumphantly. Standing from the table, she smiled down at Bates. "I'm so glad you're staying on," she said, sounding a tad nervous at the level of emotion her voice betrayed.

"So am I," he responded. He stood to face her.

"It is nice to have good people around to counter the likes of Thomas and Miss O'Brien."

"I'm not sure if I can be counted as a good person, but I'll do my best," he offered gently.

"I don't know you very well, Mister Bates, but I consider myself a good judge of character. And my gut tells me that you are a very good man." For a moment, he could not respond to the utter surety of her tone, and before he could think of a reply, she said, "Good night, Mister Bates."

She disappeared out of the room and he was left to stare after her.

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><p>As was bound to happen, after several months working at Downton, someone made a joke about how much time Bates spent in the company of the head housemaid. He overheard Gwen repeat it to Anna one day mid-morning as the two took their tea in the servants' hall on the other side of the table from him.<p>

"They say you're sweet on him," Gwen whispered in the other woman's ear, obviously unaware how easily her voice carried over the short distance. Anna glanced at him, her expression unreadable. Hoping to defray this particular rumor, Bates decided to jump in.

"You shouldn't repeat such things," he quietly warned the younger maid. Gwen nearly jumped, her eyes widening as she realized he'd heard her.

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply-"

Cutting her off, he said strongly, "Anna and I are just friends. Besides, I'm old enough to be her father."

Snorting at his response, the blonde maid shook her head at him in irritated amusement. "That's not true."

Suddenly his mind went blank at her denial. Which part wasn't true? The part about them being just friends or-

"You're not old enough to be my father," she clarified, glancing from him back to Gwen.

"How old are you?" Gwen boldly inquired of him.

"That isn't polite to ask," the other woman scolded.

"But how are we to know otherwise?"

"Well, my age is no secret," Anna said blandly.

"It is a secret to me," Bates answered. While Anna held the maturity of a woman twice her natural age, her features were so young that she could easily be less than twenty and he'd be none the wiser.

"I'm twenty-six," she informed him, throwing propriety to the side. "And you may do the calculations, Mister Bates, and tell us the difference only if you wish."

"Fifteen years," he offered quickly.

Anna smiled at him triumphantly. "See, that settles it." Looking back at Gwen, she declared, "He may be old enough to be your father but certainly not mine. Not in any civilized country, at least."

The younger woman blushed furiously at having been pulled into the comparison. She quickly changed the subject, turning their conversation to some other bit of inconsequential gossip. A bit later, Gwen made a quiet exit, leaving he and Anna alone at the table together.

Bates risked a glance at the housemaid and as he did so, he allowed his thoughts to linger on her. Anna was a classic beauty, the kind of woman who might be overlooked in a crowd but stood out the more one observed her. Her features were delicate, skin as pale as fine china. And those eyes...

Realizing that his growing feelings for Anna were decidedly not familial, he forced himself to look away from her. He had no business entertaining such a notion. Even excepting his past, the age difference between them was enough to make any thoughts of a relationship with her impossible. She belonged with a younger man, someone who could till a field or wait at table.

"I'm sorry if we embarrassed you," Anna said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. She gave him a bashful smile. "Gwen sometimes speaks out of turn, and I'm not much better."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he told her. "I interrupted your conversation."

"To quash the scurrilous rumor that I might be sweet on you," she teased, not bothering to hide her grin.

"You should be careful of such rumors, Anna," he warned seriously. "They can do you much more harm than you might imagine."

He left her then, unable to face what she might say in response.

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><p>She did not turn in Mr. Carson for stealing food. Bates felt certain the notion never even entered her mind, just as it would not have entered his own had he witnessed the scene Anna had told him about.<p>

But he had trouble concentrating on Mr. Carson's mysterious fruit pilfering when he found Anna alone in the servants' hall. The rest of the servants were down in the village to see some traveling salesman.

He joked, "Alone at last," thinking only of how much he preferred Anna's company to that of the others. Every conversation with her left him oddly fulfilled and at the same time, wanting more. Her sweet voice was like a dessert that one never grew tired of tasting, no matter how much one could get of it.

But he realized at seeing her dazed expression how his comment might sound and quickly returned to business, noting the danger of being without both footmen. She assured him quickly that they would return, leaving him in mind that she was likely in charge in Mrs. Hughes' absence. Bates knew the housekeeper relied heavily on Anna, even more so than Miss O'Brien or even Thomas. He wondered if there was an unspoken understanding that Anna would follow in the footsteps of Mrs. Hughes.

"So, you see to the girls and you're supposed to be head housemaid," he remarked conversationally. "You should put in for a raise."

"What do you mean, 'supposed to be'?" she asked with mock indignation. He smiled at the good-natured reproach even as she followed it with a laugh.

The moment was broken by the door-bell of course, and Bates' concern about being without both the butler and footmen was realized. They dealt with the situation well enough between them, trying as well as they could to shield Mr. Carson's reputation. But in the end, the truth came out. Although Bates recognized the butler's mortification at having his past revealed, he did not believe the man had anything of which to be ashamed.

Unlike Bates himself.

The situation highlighted to him how precarious his position was within the house. Not only could he lose his job if he did not keep up with the work, but if anyone ever found out about his past...

And Anna. Dear, sweet, noble Anna. She told him that anything she found out about him would not change her opinion. But he knew it would. And for the first time in a very long time, he genuinely cared what another person thought of him. Her friendship had grown so precious to him, he could not fathom what he would do if he ever lost it.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has left a review for this story. I appreciate hearing everyone's thoughts on the early episodes, especially while we are in the midst of S5. **

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><p>"So do you wish to be housekeeper after Mrs. Hughes?" he asked Anna one day as they sat quietly in the servants' hall, each engaged in a task requiring more effort than attention.<p>

"Perhaps," she answered, "although I might go on to be a lady's maid before that, if I'm lucky. If one of the girls ever gets married."

"There are always more conventional routes," Bates pointed out quietly.

Anna deliberately did not look at him as she lowered her voice an octave and grew more serious. "There are," she acknowledged. "And I'm not set against them. But I do love working here. Downton has been my home for so long, it would be difficult to leave."

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "I think I would be content to stay here a good long time."

As he watched her move about her duties, Bates wondered if she really would stay in service until she was Mrs. Hughes' age and station. The less selfish side of him hoped she'd find a nice young man to settle down with, someone who would make her a mother and grow old with her. Unfortunately, he knew in his heart that someone could never be him, and he never dared to dream of it. The thought of her leaving, of marrying and having children, hurt in a way he could not quite reconcile with himself.

"What about you?" she asked, bringing him back to himself. "Any dreams of becoming butler someday after Mister Carson?"

In truth, Bates had no such aspiration. He enjoyed serving as valet to Lord Grantham. He liked the family and the house, even with its endless stairs, and most of the people he worked with below stairs.

"That's rather unlikely," he commented.

They both knew how close he'd been to being turned out by Lord Grantham. His job was still precarious, something he could not take for granted. Serving as valet to his Lordship was a respectable occupation and one which he truly enjoyed. But there were things about himself he could not change, and while he kept his past hidden, it could rear its head at any time and ruin him. While he attempted to push away the fear of his future, it continued to sit in the back of his mind, an ever-present concern that would not leave him.

When he first saw the advertisement for the limp corrector, Bates ignored the part of his brain which advised him it was too good to be true. Surely they could not sell such items if they were complete fabrications, a child-like voice in his head pointed out. Experience should have guided him as much as wisdom, but hope can do strange things to a man.

When he visited the seller of the wicked-looking item, he considered it for a long moment before spending so much money. The shop keeper spoke solemnly enough, and Bates felt certain he could endure the inherent discomfort described. After all, he'd endured being injured at war. He'd endured prison. He could endure something as benign as a medical instrument designed to aid him.

"How bad can it be?" he asked himself. "And what do I have to lose if it does not work?"

But as things turned out, the blasted device might as well have been an instrument of torture. He wore it faithfully as the seller advised, every day, all day. He tightened the screws as advised, and masked the agony it inflicted on his injured leg. While Bates hoped the pain would lessen over time, it did just the opposite.

Anna could see something was wrong. After he was caught out in his misery by her and Gwen, she noticed him downstairs attempting to compose himself. Telling her the truth meant admitting not only his absurd hope of curing himself but also his desperation to do so. And he knew what Anna would say. She did not see him the way the others did, and he could not face her horror at witnessing what he was inflicting on himself.

"You know you can trust me, Mister Bates," Anna informed him boldly, "and if there is anything I can do to help..."

"I'm perfectly fine," he lied.

"You are anything but," she tutted, but thankfully, she let him be.

Of course, Mrs. Hughes saw through his protests more readily. She had experience on her side in sussing out his problem and hounded him on the matter over the next few days. While Bates forced himself to avoid Anna's compassionate eyes, he could not dodge the seemingly omniscient Mrs. Hughes. She had a knack for finding him when he paused for a break from pretending not to be in agony. He'd tightened the screws in the device religiously, ignoring the way the bands bit into his skin. He was thankful the blood did not show through the fabric of his trousers.

The pain was nearly unbearable. He attempted to distract himself from it by indulging in fantasies about having a normal life. He thought about standing in front of the house in line with the other servants, his posture straight without any need for a stick to lean against. The notion of walking unassisted, without a hitch or pain in his joint...

Mrs. Hughes brought him back from that precipice of wild imaginings. She demanded that he show her the damage he'd wrought to himself, and Bates did as she asked, giving her only a brief warning before pulling up the hem of his pant leg.

The damage the limp corrector was inflicting looked as horrific as it felt, if Mrs. Hughes' reaction was anything to go by. She forced him to get rid of it on pain of reporting him to Lord Grantham, scolding him for the display of vanity which incited him to buy the contraption in the first place. And Bates knew even as he agreed to her demands that it had to go. Even if the thing did work - and he had long suspected it did not - he did not have the fortitude to endure such pain day in and day out in his occupation.

"So you've sorted yourself out then, I take it?" Anna asked him about a week later, when his wounds from the limp corrector had begun to heal and the pain subside.

"I can't say as I'll ever be sorted," Bates responded. "But I've come to accept some things which I thought I'd long ago come to terms with."

She pursed her lips for a few seconds in silence before remarking, "Well, as long as you are yourself again. I'd hate for you to be anything else."

It was an idle conversation in passing on the stairs, but Anna's words stayed with Bates for some time. The regard in her voice was greater than he'd ever remembered hearing from anyone but his mother. Not even his estranged wife, the woman no one even knew existed, had spoken of him so kindly of him.

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><p>Bates had no interest in going to the fair without Anna and none of the other servants made any effort to invite him. Besides, he preferred to avoid watching Thomas use Daisy as a pawn in his torture of William, the other young footman. The dark-haired man was like a viper, and Bates did not trust him.<p>

Instead, he contented himself to sorting through Lord Grantham's old collars while talking to the new chauffeur and O'Brien. The latter figure complain unendingly about everything, which both baffled and amused Bates. He had hoped Anna might be well enough to come down for dinner, but no such luck. And when he inquired after her, O'Brien made only snide remarks.

He knew Anna would never feign sickness to avoid work, no matter what O'Brien said. The more he thought about her upstairs all day with no nourishment, the more Bates worried about her.

He made up the tray for her quite on a whim. While she did not exactly give him her approval, Mrs. Patmore did not forbid the activity when he explained himself. If anything, she gave him a thoughtful look as he borrowed one of the small vases usually taken up with Lady Grantham's breakfast trays and filled it with some lavender growing outside.

"She'll have to open the door for you," the cook warned him with an arched eyebrow. And while Bates did worry about getting the housemaid in trouble for opening the door which none could open but the housekeeper, it was a risk he was willing to take.

Even as the young woman in question informed him of that impossibility, her nervous whisper carrying to him through the glass, he could not give up. "Please, I've brought you something," he appealed, sighing with relief when he heard the key turning in the lock.

Surprised at his offering, Anna accepted the tray with a pleased expression, her pink nose and loose hair leaving her looking more adorable than ever. And the way she looked at him... The feelings he'd developed for the young housemaid were not one-sided, he suspected. Somehow, in the midst of his trying to pick up the pieces of his wrecked life, when he'd intended to find nothing but a bit of peace in the country, he'd found love instead.

A pity he'd found it too late.

"Thank you for the tray, Mister Bates," Anna told him the next day during a quiet moment after lunch. While not completely over her cold, she was remarkably improved from the day of rest. "That was very thoughtful of you."

"No more than you've done for me," he responded, hoping to downplay the act. Bates had no wish for her to think she owed him anything.

"Still. It's more than most would have done. And I'm sorry you missed the fair," Anna offered.

"I'm not. Those sorts of things are only fun if you're with the right people."

"Maybe we can catch it the next time it comes to the village?" she suggested brightly. Her smiles always had a way of reaching into his chest and warming him from the inside out.

"That would be nice."

While the conversation would have ordinarily ended there, she leaned in to him conspiratorially, the fabric of her sleeve brushing against his arm. "I heard from Gwen that they spotted Mrs. Hughes with a man at the fair."

"I overheard the same," he agreed. "Mister Carson didn't seem too keen on it, though."

She shook her head. "No doubt. But I don't think Mrs. Hughes will leave, not now."

"Do you think there's something going on between them?" Bates asked quietly, aware that they were gossiping when they ought not to be, but curious as to Anna's thoughts just the same.

"Mrs. Hughes and Mister Carson?"

"Yes."

"I don't know," she admitted. "But I think Mister Carson is too strict to ever allow it. It would be such a scandal if anyone found out."

He nodded his head in agreement.

"But wouldn't it be nice?" she asked.

He gave her a questioning look.

"To be in service that long and to find someone in the same house, the same status, someone with similar tastes and chemistry."

"It would be nice," Bates agreed, unable to fight the sudden feelings welling up within him.

Unable to ignore the way she looked at him then, he turned his eyes away. Sensing his unease, she said, "I should get upstairs before Miss O'Brien has the whole family convinced I'm a lay-about."

She left him sitting there trying not to watch her go and trying not to regret the need for it.

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><p>Weeks passed quickly the way they do in routine and monotony, turning into months which marched past in unfailing rhythm. Bates kept himself to himself for the most part, but he could not ignore the very real friendship he'd developed with the head housemaid. His own feelings extended beyond what propriety allowed, but he kept them tightly reined in. That she might feel the same way about him did not really occur to him, not until she made it clear that the emotions he felt was anything but one sided. He tried to let her know without saying the words that he had no right to her affections. But Anna's hurt expression from the discussion of Lady Edith and the dead heir, Mr. Patrick, followed Bates the rest of the day. Her words - "It's always sad when you love someone who doesn't love you back" - hit a chord deep within that left him wishing he could confess everything to her. She deserved to know the truth. But at the same time, he knew he could not.<p>

Telling Anna about his past, including his marital state, would provide too many complications. Even if she didn't reject him outright upon learning that he was a thief and a drunkard, she'd still be obligated to share the information with Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. By not telling her, he would keep her from struggling between the moral dilemma of keeping the information to herself, a choice which would surely end with her losing her position, or betraying his secret.

But then came the missing snuff box.

Bates knew he should have expected the move, especially from the likes of Thomas and Miss O'Brien. But Anna was the one to catch on to their game, warning him in time to avoid the trap they'd set. Her faith in him never failed to astonish, but her cunning nature was really something extraordinary to witness. In the end, he simply replaced the snuff box, unwilling to get either of his enemies in trouble, no matter how much they deserved it.

But Anna...

She was a trap which had ensnared him completely. Her unexpected declaration of love on the way to the flower show left him both elated that such a woman would feel so for him and ashamed that he was so unworthy of her affections. She deserved a better man than he - someone younger, whole of body and spirit, less touched by the evils of the world. He could see her with someone like Tom Branson or even one of the farmers. Anna was used to hard work, and he suspected that she would enjoy having her own home, no matter how small it might be compared to Downton.

But no, she had declared herself for him. She had fallen in love with _him_.

"Did you enjoy the flower show?" he asked her on the walk back to Downton.

"Yes, it was beautiful," she answered, and he could see her trying not to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"I take it that the Dowager Countess usually wins?"

Anna chuckled. "Yes, she does, for as long as I can remember. But I suppose it is nice to know that there is always a chance."

They did not talk about what she'd said to him on the way there. Bates could not tell her how impossible her feelings seemed to him, and how equally impossible it was for him to confess his own feelings for her. He did love her; he knew that clear as day. But loving and being at liberty to love were two different things entirely, and she would not thank him for sullying her reputation by allowing her to fall in with a married man.

Even if he were able to find Vera and get a divorce, even then, what could he offer a woman like Anna?

And yet, the selfish side of him wanted her. He'd only felt such longing once before in his life, when he'd married Vera before shipping off to fight in Africa. Years of good conduct and service in the Mahdist war had enabled him to get dispensation for the marriage, but even then, it was born mostly of a desire to have someone waiting at home to whom he could return.

But Anna was a different person from his wife. Like a cool breeze on a warm summer day, her very presence made everything a little better. She made no complaints about hard work, giving help freely to others and accepting it with gratitude when it was offered. Her warmth, generosity, and sense of humor made her a pleasure to be around. And while Bates would readily admit his partiality, he felt certain she was one of the most lovely looking women he'd ever laid eyes on. While Vera had been fiery and primal, Anna was sweet and possessed, as much a lady as the women she attended. She showed unfailing courtesy to those around her, and her sunny disposition brightened everyone's day. But she was more than a friendly smile or a sympathetic ear. Anna was a good woman, like a beautiful wildflower which could flourish as readily in an open field as in a cultivated garden.

He could easily picture himself spending the rest of his life with Anna Smith, happy and grateful for each day with her. Of course, whether she would be equally happy as his wife was a mystery, and not one he felt very confident about answering. Bates had to admit he was not the best husband to Vera, although he hoped that age and experience might improve him if he were ever given a chance with Anna.

Not that it was possible to have a life with Anna. But it was nice to think about having a chance.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks as always to those who've been kind enough to review. Reviews and PM's make my day and always encourage me to write more. :)**

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><p>She'd found out the truth about him, or the version his mother had shared with her. But Anna still seemed unshaken in her regard for him, if not a bit curious as to his side of the story.<p>

"You told Mister Carson that you were imprisoned as a thief," she mentioned one night as they stood together in their usual spot outside in the courtyard. "You phrased that deliberately to make us believe you were not innocent."

He shook his head. "Innocence makes no difference. I am a convicted felon, Anna."

"It makes all the difference," she contradicted adamantly. "That's why you're still here, why Lord Grantham allowed you to stay. If anything, the whole thing says even more about your character."

"Don't be too quick to pardon me," he warned. "I'm sure my mother told you something about how I was back then."

Anna nodded. "She said you drank too much."

"I did. Far too much. I was a different person then. I doubt you'd even have recognized me. You certainly wouldn't have liked me."

She never would have fallen in love with the man he was back then. Perhaps it would have been to her benefit to have known him then.

"But you changed yourself," she pointed out. "And changing is one of the hardest things a person can do. It couldn't have been easy to give up drinking."

"It was easy enough in prison."

In truth, the act of no longer drinking was simple because alcohol was not available behind bars. Getting through the shakes and cravings had proved painfully difficult and made the first several months of his imprisonment extremely unpleasant. But he had managed it, and her acknowledgment of the difficulty of such an achievement warmed him.

"And look at you now," Anna stated. Her eyes reflected an adoration he'd never known before, not even from Vera in the early days.

"A crippled old convict lucky to have a position?" he asked sardonically.

Admonishing him with her gaze, Anna corrected him, "A well respected valet to His Lordship."

"Is that how you see me?" he asked, curious. "Well respected?"

"Yes, that's exactly how I see you." Her clipped statement brooked no argument. Turning the tables on him, she asked, "How do you see me?"

Anna looked at him expectantly and Bates could not help but smile at her. "I see you as kind and hard working, and incredibly tenacious..."

Clearly holding back a grin of her own, she prompted him, "Go on."

"You want more?" he teased.

"It sounded like there was more."

Amused, he allowed, "You're also wise beyond your years and cunning besides." She nodded, looking down. Detecting some mild disappointment at his pronunciation, he added one final attribute. "And I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on."

Anna looked up at this statement, her cheeks quickly turning a faint pink as the compliment brought a smile to her face. "I've been called pretty before," she revealed, "but never beautiful."

"You are pretty, too," Bates confirmed softly. "And lovely-"

Her blush had darkened several shades more as she interrupted, "Oh, off with you now, Mister Bates. You'll have me full of myself like I'm the Queen of Sheba."

He sighed sadly at her pleased dismissal. "No, I shouldn't say such things," he told her regretfully. "I haven't the right."

"You haven't the right to compliment someone?"

"I haven't the right to toy with your affections, not when we both know I'm not free."

Anna refused to back down or look the slightest bit chagrined. "And what if you were free?"

"I would still count myself as unworthy of you."

Her smile vanished as her forehead wrinkled in consternation. "And what makes me so worthy and you so unworthy?" she demanded.

"I'm far too old for you, for a start," he began.

"And since when has that ever mattered? I'm a grown woman, Mister Bates. I think I know my own mind enough to not be swayed by a conniving philanderer, if that's what you were. And we both know you aren't."

"You should be with someone who can take care of you, Anna."

"I can take care of myself," she shot back.

Undeterred, he added, "And I'm a convicted felon."

"For a crime you didn't commit."

"Not in the eyes of the law."

"But you're innocent in my eyes," Anna persisted, "and that is all that matters to me."

The unconditional love shining from her face almost hurt to look upon, and Bates forced his gaze away. "Anna..." he began.

She spoke before he could continue. "Next you'll tell me I'm too good for you because of your injury or because you used to drink."

"Those are perfectly valid-"

"You think any of that matters to me?" Anna interrupted emotionally.

"It should matter," Bates told her seriously. "If you tied yourself to someone like me, those things would negatively impact your life a great deal."

Squaring her shoulders, she returned, "And what about the good things? What about the fact that you're the kindest, most thoughtful and sincere person I've ever known? Or that I'm in love with you? Doesn't that count for something?"

He let out a ragged breath at the passion in her voice and the fire in her eyes. How a woman like Anna had ever fallen for a man like him, he would never understand. But he did know that he loved her just as fiercely, even if he could not admit it aloud. And part of loving someone sometimes meant protecting them from themselves.

"Anna, none of this makes a difference. I'm not a free man," he reminded her. "And I'm not likely to be. I don't want you wasting your time on something that can never happen."

Her expression softening, she said, "Mister Bates, I don't think any time spent with you could ever be considered a waste."

Their conversation was cut short by William calling Anna inside to attend to Lady Mary, but as she disappeared into the house, she favored him with a renewed smile cast over her shoulder.

* * *

><p>Despite his reservations, they continued to grow closer over time. Anna did not mention her feelings for him again; she didn't have to. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, confiding in him when something bothered her and asking him about his own problems. They almost always sat together at meals and when they could not, his eyes sought her out and she gave him an answering smile.<p>

Bates knew he should have felt guilty, indulging in her company so much. But she sought him out often, especially when Gwen left for her new secretarial position. He knew Anna missed the younger woman. Though certainly a poor substitute, he stood in as a friend to the head housemaid, perhaps her only true friend on staff. Besides, they were a united front against the likes of Miss O'Brien, who had grown even more conniving in the absence of Thomas.

If pressed, he would have been unable to deny that he felt more for Anna than just platonic friendship. Her presence filled his life in a way he'd never thought possible, and he looked forward to seeing her each day. He sometimes even spent his half days at Downton sitting in the servants' hall just so he could have a little extra time with her while she mended.

On one rare occasion when their half days coincided, Anna suggested that he walk her to the village. Bates hesitated at the suggestion, expressing concern that others might get the wrong impression.

"And what impression is that, Mister Bates?" she asked with a deliberate smirk. He sighed at her deliberate indifference. Anna offered in response, "We're just walking to the village. There's nothing scandalous about that."

"Perhaps you should ask Mister Moseley to walk with you," Bates suggested evenly. "I'm sure he would jump at the opportunity."

Anna shook her head at him in clear exasperation. "There's no need to pawn me off on someone else, Mister Bates. If you don't want to go, just say so."

"You know I'd love to go," he responded. "I think only of you."

"Well, then why bring poor Mister Moseley into the conversation?" she scolded lightly.

He paused before stating simply, "I think he fancies you."

Frowning, Anna answered slowly, "Then I feel sorry for him because I do not feel the same."

They took the walk slowly, strolling at a pace to accommodate Bates' slower gait. They talked about books and the latest gossip at Downton - anything but the war, which was the main topic at the house anymore. As the only member of the staff who had been to war, Bates was often asked his opinion on such matters. Anna knew he was not fond of talking about his service, at least not specific questions regarding battle, so she studiously left the topic alone. He did sometimes tell her stories from his time in the army, but those were mostly humorous anecdotes intended to elicit one of her shining smiles. The darker moments he kept to himself.

As they walked, Bates passed on to her the latest news from his mother. The boarder who had been living with her for years had finally moved out and she'd decided not to take in anyone new.

"Won't she be lonely?" Anna asked.

"She has some friends around the neighborhood she sees."

"I'm sure she wishes you lived closer."

Bates shrugged. "She knows I couldn't find a better position in London even if I wanted to go back."

She inquired curiously, "So you don't miss London?"

"Honestly, no. It is much quieter here than in town. And prettier," he answered, taking care not to make it too obvious that the beauty he appreciated was not solely in the form of nature. "There is a great deal to do in London, but nothing that particularly interests me."

Nodding in agreement, Anna said, "I've never lived in town, but I've traveled there with the family before a few times, often for the season. I can't say as I like it as much overall, but its nice for short periods."

"So you consider yourself a country girl?" he asked with a grin.

"I don't think I've considered myself a 'girl' from a long time, Mister Bates," she responded with a laugh, "but country, yes. My father was a farmer, before he passed away."

"What did your family do then?"

Anna said thoughtfully, "My uncle found positions for my sisters and me. I worked as a maid in a small house in York, and after two years a position opened here and I applied."

"You must have been very young," he commented.

"Younger than most," Anna allowed. "But I kept to my work and didn't make trouble."

"Do you miss living on a farm?" he asked in turn.

She laughed at the notion. "Not in the least. It was always my job to milk the cow, and she was a sour old thing who hated everyone. I used to fight with her the whole morning to get half a pail, and then at least once a fortnight she'd kick it over out of spite."

Bates smiled at her story, easily picturing a young Anna struggling with a stubborn milk cow. "You've come far in the world," he observed.

Snorting, she commented, "Now I change linens and arrange ladies' hair."

"Yes, but do the ladies try to keep you from changing the linens?" he asked.

"Not in a long time," Anna answered with a laugh. "Of course, there were a few times when I first arrived when Lady Edith would have it out with her sister and throw herself on the bed crying..."

"I don't envy his lordship back then - three daughters of such an age," Bates said, shaking his head.

"Don't envy the governess," she corrected him with amusement. "His Lordship had an easy time of it by comparison."

Once in the village, they browsed the few shops for a while before taking a moment to rest on a bench in the park. Anna showed him the new trim she'd bought to put on an old hat, as well as a book she'd found at the bookshop. She had also picked up some threads and other things for Lady Mary.

"I might read that when you're done with it," he ventured, referring to the book.

"Of course," she confirmed, beaming at him with approval. "Are you fond of mysteries, Mister Bates?"

"I enjoy most genres," he said. "And sometimes a good mystery can occupy a late hour when a book on philosophy or history fails to excite interest."

They spent a quarter of an hour debating different types of novels, and Anna did not stop smiling once throughout. She seemed to shine with an inner light which was so bright and pure that Bates sometimes could not look away, he was so entranced by it.

"Should we head back?" she asked after a time.

He wanted to invite her to spend more time in the local tea room. The one in the village was small but had her favorite type of cake. But if they were seen together so publicly, people would begin to ask questions. Anna's reputation might be harmed.

"Yes, I suppose we should go back," he acknowledged. He stood up from the bench and would have offered her his arm but for the talk it might insight if anyone saw. Bates knew he could not court Anna, could not really step out with her properly. And with his background as a married man, he would not expose her to the ridicule and gossip that such an improper relationship was sure to produce.

But once they were out of sight of the village, on the road back to Downton, Anna reached out to take his hand in hers. Before Bates could think to pull away, she had threaded her small fingers between his, the only thing separating them the thin layer of her gloves. He stopped to look down at their joined hands.

"Anna..." he began, sighing deeply. He might have let it go if she'd only put her arm in his. It was not proper, but much more so than than intertwining their fingers. Her hand was so small compared to his, yet he marveled at the strength of her grip as he reluctantly moved to disentangle them.

"There's no one around to see, Mister Bates," she reminded him. "And I wouldn't care even if there were."

"I care," he responded. He held her hand up gently, allowing himself to indulge in the warmth of her tiny fingers. "If things were different..." he began.

"If you were divorced?" She emphasized the word, obviously the only impediment she saw to them being together.

"If I were divorced and a better man for you," he allowed.

"I'm not sure how you could be a better man," Anna challenged him. "And you know that none of the rest of it matters to me."

Bates appealed, "It should matter, Anna. I know what you're feeling right now - I do. But you have to think of your future. These kinds of feelings can fade over time, and when they do you, you will still be left with the decisions you've made."

He certainly knew about consequences of poor decisions. Had he never married Vera...

Her eyes narrowed in anger. "You think what I feel is just a passing infatuation?" she demanded. "Is that really what you think?"

"That's not-"

"I've never felt like this about anyone, Mister Bates, not ever. You tell me we can't be together, not right now, and I accept that. But you can't convince me to stop loving you just because you think I shouldn't."

He shook his head, the pain in her voice tearing at him. "I only want you to find happiness, Anna. And I know I can't give you that, no matter what you feel for me."

"Shouldn't I be the judge of who makes me happy?" she responded.

An instant later, Bates heard a noise behind them. Realizing that he still held Anna's hand in his own, he let go and took an instinctive step back. The automobile came around a corner, putting the two of them into full view. Anna followed Bates as they both stepped off to the side of the road to let the car pass. As it did he noticed the Dowager Countess inside, one ancient eyebrow raising at the sight of Anna with him. But a moment later, the car had gone beyond them and disappeared down the lane.

Anna looked at him before turning her eyes back down to the road. She said hesitantly, "Mister Bates - if you don't feel the same way about me, I understand. But if that is the case, please just say so and don't hide behind all these excuses. Because they mean nothing to me."

He'd deliberately never said the words to her, choosing to hide his feelings in a vain attempt to shelter her from scandal. Part of him actually hoped that if he left things alone, that perhaps she would not be hurt. Maybe she would find someone else more appealing, someone at least available. If the man she found was young and whole and worthy of her, so much the better, although Bates doubted anyone could truly be worthy of Anna.

But he had to tell her something. Honor had kept him silent until this moment, intend on protecting her and her reputation from harm. But he could not bear the thought of her doubting his true feelings.

"I care about you very much," he revealed quietly. "It is wrong of me to say it, but I do. And I would never purposely cause you pain, Anna. Being with me, even if I were free, would mean unconscionable sacrifice on your part. You know my views on that."

Her brow wrinkling in consternation, Anna demanded, "So you would live the rest of your life alone? What about my views on this subject? It does involve me too, you know."

Bates thought about the Dowager Countess' car which had passed them and the curious eyes of the woman inside. The family loved Anna, he knew, but even her long service and kind disposition would not spare her if rumors began that she was engaged in an elicit affair with a married man.

"If I am alone, it is a fate of my own making," he stated. "And I don't count myself so selfish as to drag you into ruin with me."

But she was already shaking her head. "Whatever mistakes you've made in the past, Mister Bates, you should not be doomed to a life of misery."

"Better to doom myself than to doom you."

Anna snorted at his response. "I don't think I could be miserable if I were with you. Even if you couldn't get a divorce-"

He held up one hand to silence her. "Please, Anna."

She shook her head at his obstinate stance. "Why do you believe yourself so unworthy?" she questioned. "You are a good person. The fact that you continue to fight me on this just proves it. Any other man would not care so much for my reputation."

He stood quietly for a moment before informing her, "Sometimes honor is the only thing a man has left."

Anna said nothing in response to this statement. Instead, she turned to walk beside him and put her arm into the crook of his. He sighed at the contact, at the way she touched him so gently and purposefully even after everything which had just passed between them, but he did not pull away from her until they were within sight of the house.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This is the conclusion of my little trip down memory lane to S1-S2. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to review or send me a PM. **

* * *

><p>As the months passed, they fell into a quiet rhythm, a sort of unmarried partnership among the staff. Anna made no effort to hide her preference for his company, and strangely, no one challenged her on it. Bates expected barbed comments from the likes of Miss O'Brien, but she seemed unwilling to challenge the head housemaid or the valet with Thomas gone off to join the army.<p>

Bates knew he should not allow Anna to spend so much time with him, but he couldn't help himself. Her presence made everything wonderful. Her smile, her laugh, her Yorkshire accent like music in his ears... He'd never counted himself a particularly romantic man, but when he was with her, he understood the urge that drove some men to write poetry. Some days she filled his thoughts like a siren, slowly driving him to distraction. Other days she was like an intoxicating scent which left him relaxed and unable to stop smiling.

He realized the depth of his folly when even Lord Grantham took notice of it.

"I've heard you have developed a taste for certain company downstairs," his Lordship commented in a friendly, teasing manner.

"Where did you hear that, milord?" Bates queried with alarm.

"Her Ladyship mentioned it. She probably got it from O'Brien, but I thought I'd ask you about it directly." Sensing his valet's distress, he said, "There's nothing wrong with liking a pretty girl, Bates. And Anna has a good head on her shoulders. You could do a lot worse."

"I do like Anna very much," he admitted quietly. "But it will do her no good to be linked with me in such a manner. She's done nothing wrong. Neither of us have."

The earl turned to look at his valet, slightly confused. "I meant no disrespect to you or her," he said quickly. "And I'll say no more on it if it makes you uncomfortable. But why shouldn't you be together, if it is what you both want? I can't remember ever having married servants at Downton, but it is no longer unheard of. Arrangements could be made."

Pausing a moment to take a breath, Bates answered, "She could do a lot better, milord."

The other man sniffed before remarking, "Couldn't they all? But that doesn't stop the heart from wanting."

Lord Grantham was a wise man. And Bates had to admit, at least to himself, that his heart wanted Anna.

* * *

><p>They sat together in the moonlight, the relative privacy of the courtyard surrounding them, the secluded area both a shield from prying eyes and chaperon to ensure proper decorum.<p>

"I've looked for her," Bates said, the admission wrenched from his lips. "She refused the suggestion of divorce when I was still in prison, but I was penniless then. I have some money I've set aside now. It is most of my savings, but if I can convince her we'd both be better off..."

"But you don't know where she is?" Anna asked.

"She disappeared shortly before I was released from prison. I've written to everyone I can think of who we used to know, and those who have responded have not seen her."

The housemaid frowned. "Do you think she's hiding from you?"

"Perhaps. But she has no reason to hide. I was never angry with her."

"Not even when she stole?" Anna asked. "What she did sent you to prison."

Shaking his head, Bates looked away, his expression a picture of shame. He rarely spoke about Vera and he mentioned his time behind bars even less often. But he never demonstrated resentment over the fate to which his wife's actions had resigned him.

"I know I failed her as a husband. I've come to realize that she was a part of it too, but she was certainly not solely to blame. I think she stole the silver because she was unhappy, and I cannot blame her for that."

Anna looked as though she wanted to argue, but she simply asked, "What will you do?"

Sighing, Bates told her, "The only thing I can do. Continue looking. Continue waiting. Continue hoping that when I do find her, she is amenable to what I'm asking."

Anna wrapped her arms around her midsection and shivered slightly. The temperature was not quite cold, but a steady wind blew, stealing through the thin fabric of her dress. As she leaned into his larger frame, Bates found himself wrapping one arm around her shoulder. Her quaking gradually stopped, just as her his own stiff-backed posture slowly began to relax as he enjoyed the contact between them.

They had almost kissed once, in that courtyard. Bates sometimes found himself back in that moment with her, a battle waging within him between doing what he knew was right and doing what felt good.

"What if she doesn't agree?"

He did not answer immediately. She already knew the answer anyway.

"Then we can be parted only in death."

Anna let out a sharp breath at his words, and he felt her inch slightly closer to him.

"I can't imagine God wanting that life for you," she murmured, "just waiting and waiting to finally have a chance at happiness."

"You know I don't believe. But if I did, I know he wouldn't want that life for _you_," Bates responded. Slowly, he withdraw his arm from around her shoulders and stood up from his seat beside her. "Anna, I don't want you waiting for me."

"I'm not-"

"No, I mean it," he interrupted. "If you find someone else, I won't stand in your way."

She simply looked at him for a moment, her eyes focused first on his, then on his lips, then back to his eyes again. He knew what she was thinking about, remembering their almost kiss on another such night in this very place. When he found himself wondering what it would feel like to kiss her, Bates pushed the thoughts away.

"There can be no one else for me," she informed him.

Closing his eyelids tightly for a moment, he managed, "You don't know that. You can't."

Anna stood up to face him as she challenged, "Why can't I know that? I've told you before - I know my own heart, Mister Bates."

"I have no doubt that you do," he told her. "And you have a good heart, Anna. It is strong and courageous and full of more love than I could ever imagine in one person. Don't break your kind and beautiful heart on the likes of me."

"I think it may be a little late for that," she said quietly.

Pain flitted through him as he looked at her standing there, so certain of her own emotions even though he could see the doubts about his that she still harbored. Honor held his tongue from saying what he knew she wanted to hear. It held every part of him away from her but his own deep feelings.

"I never wished to hurt you, Anna."

He felt miserable at the notion that he'd done just that and would continue to until the day when was able to find Vera and gain his freedom.

She gave him a small smile. "Then don't hurt me."

"What can I do?"

"Don't push me away."

She reached out to take his hand in hers. Her fingers were like ice, and he instinctively pulled them closer to his body for warmth.

Anna went on, "Don't suggest that I should love someone else. Because there can be no one else. Don't give up on us. I haven't, and I won't, Mister Bates."

He gazed at her for a moment, enraptured by her steely stance as she stood so close to him.

"You know, you could call me by my first name, if you wish," he told her. They both knew it was not proper, but it could be no worse than holding her hands so intimately when he had no right to take such liberties. He amended the offer to, "When we're alone."

Before she could respond, they heard the distant sound of footsteps in the gravel which heralded someone approaching. Bates let her go and stepped away, a dance they had nearly perfected in their stolen moments together.

* * *

><p>As months spread into years, Bates forced himself to admit that his love for Anna was not going away. She had ingrained herself inside of him so completely that any thought of disentangling her brought him nothing but anguish. He even went so far as to contact a private investigator and solicitor in London about the steps necessary to look for Vera and file for divorce. But the news was disheartening. He would need to find Vera to initiate the proceedings, and even then it would be difficult without securing her cooperation.<p>

While he doubted that Vera would ever go out of her way just to help him, he wondered if he couldn't scrape together enough money to buy her compliance. To that end, he saved every bit of money he could, hopeful that it might be enough. Vera had always been greedy. He suspected that she'd stolen items before the incident with the regimental silver, as she always seemed to have clothes and jewelry beyond the means of the humble wife of an army solider.

As the war pressed on and more and more young men went off to fight the Germans on the continent, the chances of Anna finding someone else to share her life with seemed to dwindle in Bates' eyes. Of course, he had more and more trouble with reconciling the idea of losing her.

"I wish I could come with you, to visit your mother," she told him mournfully as he descended the stairs with his case in hand.

They both knew that the 'visit' was not a simple one. Rather, he was being permitted to see his only family member before she succumbed to the illness which had been diminishing her health for over a year. Bates knew that Anna had written to his mother a few time since seeing her in London, and his mother in turn had mentioned the young housemaid in her letters to her son. Her most recent letter to her son, the one which told of her rapid decline in health, had included one further detail.

_I saw Vera yesterday. She came sniffing around the house but did not stay. I told her about your desire for a divorce and the possible reparations you'd be willing to make her. You should talk to her when you come, if you can._

Bates had wanted to tell Anna about the news, but not until he could settle matters with Vera.

"I'll be back before you know it," he said to her instead, favoring her with a casual smile.

"You will write to me while you're gone?"

She put a hand on his arm as she asked the question, apparently not caring if anyone downstairs saw her. Writing a woman letters was not as intimate of an activity as it once was, but it very well might draw questions from Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Bates could tell by her pensive expression that she did not care

"I will," he promised her, already know that she'd worry. He never would understand her concern for him, nor the deep well of affection she kept in her heart. And while he could not comprehend her obvious love for him, he'd passed the point of being able to deny it or push her away. "And I'll see you again when I return."

"Tell your mother that she's in my prayers."

He nodded an acknowledgment of the sentiment. They both knew he was not a religious man, but his mother was and she would appreciate Anna's message. While he regretted that the two women who mattered most to him had not been able to meet more than the one time, he at least had his mother's good opinion of Anna. She had never approved of Vera.

"I'll miss you," Bates ventured softly. There was so much he wanted to say to Anna, so much he did not feel the right to say just yet. He was still not a free man, despite how desperately he wanted to be with her.

Slowly, over the years they had known each other, she had chipped away at his opinion of himself until even he could see a glimpse of the man inside. Anna loved him, and he knew that her judgment was sound. If she believed him worthy and capable of providing her with the sort of life she wanted, then the least he could do was strive to meet that belief and expectation.

"I'll miss you too, Mister Bates."

He smiled at her use of his surname. She had never called him by his given name - not once, despite his invitations. Sometimes he wondered if she still remembered it. And while he loved the sound of her voice when it pronounced those few syllables, he did long to hear her address him more intimately.

Setting out for London, he should have been weighed down with worry for his mother. And he was. But in the back of his mind, he could not help but buoy his spirits with thoughts of a real future with the blonde head housemaid who watched him go.

* * *

><p>He sent her letters each week during his time in London, and she wrote back. She cried as he described his mother's passing, wishing she could be there with him, to offer comfort in more than just words of sympathy on a page of paper.<p>

Lady Mary noticed her subdued nature while he was away and commented on it. Anna explained simply, "I feel badly for Mister Bates, that's all. His mother was the only family he had left."

"Should I be worried he's going to steal you away from us?" Mary asked.

"I don't think you'll need to worry about that," she told the woman, "at least not for a while."

Everyone seemed to recognize her special relationship with Mr. Bates, including Mrs. Hughes.

"How are things coming along then, settling matters in London?" she asked Anna as the younger woman read through the latest letter from the valet in the servants' hall.

"Well, I think. He should be coming back soon, although it depends on when he can finish up with the paperwork for her house. Dealing with the property turned out to be more complicated than he originally thought, although I'm not sure why."

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "Death is a funny business. It happens to everyone, but when it does, no one can be completely ready for it." She took a moment to regard Anna before remarking in a subdued whisper, "I understand that Mister Bates is married."

The housemaid gave a solitary nod of confirmation.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you the consequences of-"

"No, Mrs. Hughes," Anna interrupted sharply, "you don't."

Her voice was not harsh or angry, but rather full of cautionary hope.

The housekeeper smiled at her softly. "Is he going to try and secure a... an arrangement, with his wife?" she asked.

Anna nodded with more animation. "Yes, he wants a divorce, if she'll agree to it. That's been the problem all along, getting her to agree."

Mrs. Hughes showed no shock at the frankness of her reply, but only said, "Well, then let's hope for the best."

* * *

><p>He left the furniture and most of his mother's personal effects intact, determined that another trip would be necessary to get everything ready to either sell the house or rent it out. But the house itself...<p>

It was his. His mother had actually owned it, even though he'd thought she rented it all these years. And she'd left him other money, besides. He knew not how - his father had not been a rich man; but it turned out that his mother lived her life frugally, having worked until she was unable, and late in life she'd inherited an unexpected sum from a distant relative.

And with her gone, it all went to him. He had to finish settling her estate, of course, but he could do most of that by mail from Downton. Besides, he wanted to get home.

As he stood in his mother's parlor, trying not to imagine what it would be like to live in such a house with his own family, he caught sight of a book by her usual chair. The novel was one by Dickens, and it interested him less than the edge of envelope peeking out from the center. Opening the book, he found his latest letter to her, written several months earlier.

_Dear Mother,_

_I'm sorry you had to deal with Vera, but I cannot express my happiness that she might finally be receptive to a divorce. Anna has been so patient, so willing to wait, and I wish I could put that wait to an end for her. For us both._

_When you told me not to marry Vera all those years ago, I wish I had taken your advice. But I never thought I'd meet someone like Anna, someone who cares about me for who I am and not what I can provide for her. And strangely, all I can think about is providing for Anna - caring for her and giving her anything and everything I can. I'm not worthy of her, no matter what you or she may say. But I love her too much to let that stop me._

His letter went on to detail information about his trip to town and when he would arrive. It was the last letter he'd written to his mother before her death, but they'd had several conversations before she succumbed to the illness which had plagued her for so long. She disapproved of divorce, but as she'd told him, she wanted her son to be happy. And if the only path to his happiness led through a dissolution of his marriage to Vera - whom, she took care to remind him, she'd never liked - then she would support him. It was in that moment, just hours before her death, that she told him about her savings.

And the house.

His mother owned her house, the one he thought she'd been renting for all these years. And with her death, it passed to him. The value was not insubstantial, not to people like him who could save for a lifetime and not have enough to purchase such property outright. The money was enough to pay off Vera for a divorce, and hopefully the house would allow him and Anna to start a new life.

He still had plenty to do at the house to get it ready for rent or sale, but Bates had dealt with all the major matters required after his mother's passing. And he missed home. He missed Anna. He boarded the morning train without bothering to send a telegram informing the house of his arrival. The news would only arrive a few hours before him anyway.

And the train barreled towards Yorkshire, Bates allowed himself to dream of a future shared with Downton's head housemaid. Perhaps they could leave service together, sell his mother's house, and use the money to buy a small hotel? They could work together and if they had children, they could have the children with them as they worked. And as he grew too old or infirm to work, they could hire someone to help at the hotel. Anna and their children would be taken care of in the event of his death. Bates sighed as he imagined the joy of such a simple future together.

He was still smiling when the train arrived in the station.

_fin_


End file.
